Page 159 of Jackie

I know the question will hurt him and it does, but even through the hurt, he can’t look away, and there’s a part of me that wants to reach across the deep rift between us, run my fingertips along his cheek. Cutting and bizarre, the unique desire I felt for him, that sometimes I still feel, a desire I once thought might be enough.

“You failed me,” I say, because I just need to end it.

1967

As soon as the news of the suit is public, they go after me. An avalanche of headlines.

Mrs. Kennedy “Irked”

Uneasy Rests the Crown of JKF’s Jackie

From Mourner to Swinger

Jackie Comes off her Pedestal

They describe the conflict with Manchester as undignified and pointless.

—

Just after the New Year, I visit Bunny Mellon in Antigua. As I’m coming out of the water one day, brushing the sea from my eyes, a shadow falls in front of me. I look up. I’m surrounded by reporters; two photographers are wading toward me, cameras held like snapping Cyclops eyes, legs chopped at the shins by the waves.

—

“In Skorpios, there are no reporters,” Ari says when I tell him about it on the phone.

“And Cyclops?”

“That I can’t promise. Did you yell at them?”

I smile. “No. Though I think a little blasphemy is good for the soul.”

“But your people don’t see it that way.”

“I’m afraid my scuffle with Manchester isn’t good for their politics.”

“Just say the word, I’ll be there.”

“An ocean and six time zones away?”

“You must realize that, to me, that’s no distance at all.”

“Bobby’s very upset,” I say. “But the world wasn’t going to love me forever.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“To settle with the writer.”

“I see,” Onassis says. “And will you? Settle.” The emphasis he places on that last word isn’t lost on me.

“It might be better to have them despise me so much, they wipe me right out of the world.”

“The world would miss you.”

“That’s okay.”

“You’d be bored.”

“I would be mystery.”

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